My husband’s cousin came to live with us to take a short course and also look for a job while he was at it. He was younger, I think four years younger than my husband. When he came around, I didn’t say much to him, and he also knew how to keep to himself, so he always stayed out of sight.

After school, he would be in his room. The only time you saw him was when he needed something to eat. On weekends, he would help us clean the house and run little errands to keep the household going. My husband started including him in our activities. Whenever we went out, he would go with us. We invited him to church once, and from then on, he went with us every Sunday.

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He didn’t bother anyone in the house or do anything you could complain about. I liked that about him and also started becoming more comfortable around him. I was cooking banku one day when he asked if there was something he could do to help. I asked what he could do, and he said he could even prepare the banku. I laughed, thinking he was joking.

Seconds later, he was standing where I had been, stirring the banku until it became smooth. I called my husband to come and see it, and he was as surprised as I was. Slowly, he became part and parcel of the household. We could leave things in his care, and he would never make a mistake.

One day, he came to me asking for money. He said his school fees had not been fully paid and his exams were drawing near. He needed to pay the balance before he could write the exams. I asked why he wouldn’t talk to my husband, knowing he was the financial head of the house. He said my husband had already done enough and he didn’t want to burden him further.

I still spoke to my husband about it, and he paid the fees in full. He wrote the exams, completed the course, and told us he would be leaving in a week’s time. He had lived with us for close to five months, and everything had been peaceful.

One day in the kitchen, out of nowhere, he moved closer and removed something from my hair. As he leaned in, a sharp, strong fragrance filled my nose, and a split second later, I couldn’t smell it anymore. He removed a tiny whitish thing from my hair and showed it to me. He said something like, “Look at this. It’s destroying your hair.”

I smiled, wondering how such a tiny thing could destroy a whole wig.

But a few seconds later, I couldn’t control myself anymore. He played with my hair. I could feel in my spirit that it wasn’t right, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it. Then he touched my cheeks. I smiled. Then he touched my breasts. I screamed, “Oh, stop that,” and smiled. I was shocked that I was smiling, but I couldn’t stop myself. He asked if he could kiss me, and I remember trying to frown, but the frown faded into a big, wide smile.

He reached in for a kiss, and I turned off the stove, getting ready for what was coming next. He kissed me, held my hand, and I followed him like a lamb to his room. I could see everything that was happening, but I was too weak in body and spirit to fight it. We had sex. At a certain point, I was the one on top.

Right after we came out of his room, he asked me for money. He said he was leaving the next day but had nothing on him and didn’t want to bother my husband again. I went through my purse and gave him everything in it. I didn’t even count it. He said, “But this can’t even buy my fare back home. You can do better.”

That was when I took my ATM card, and he followed me to withdraw everything in my account. I handed it all over to him. I was so sad I wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. He was supposed to leave the next day, but when my husband came home, he told him he wanted to take the night bus instead. My husband gave him some extra money, and then he was gone.

I won’t say I became conscious only after he left because I’d been conscious through it all. I just couldn’t fight it. But when he left, I felt as though something had lifted, and all of a sudden, I threw myself onto the floor and started crying. My husband was helpless. He was trying to understand what was wrong with me, but I kept telling him I was fine, just overwhelmed.

“Overwhelmed with what?” he screamed.

I gathered the pieces left of me and started going about my daily activities. Deep in the night, while my husband was snoring, I sat in bed mentally retracing everything that had happened—the sex, the money, everything. I took my phone to check how much was left in my bank account. I had given him GHC8,500, leaving only about GHC600 in my account. I cried all night with guilt and pain.

For close to a week, I wasn’t myself. My husband asked a million questions, and to make him stop asking, I acted normal around him. But once I was alone, I sulked, sobbed, and even wanted to die.

One day, I called him. When he picked up, he was full of smiles and energy, while I had lost every bit of strength I had in me. I asked him, “What happened? What did you do to me? Please tell me the truth. What was that fragrance for?”

He swore there was no fragrance and told me he was surprised that I had initiated the sex. He made it seem as though everything was my fault, saying that I was the one who had seduced him.

I told him, “I can’t carry this guilt and shame alone, so I’ll confess everything to my husband.”

He screamed, “That’s a mistake. Why would you do that? Are you a child? Do you want to lose your marriage?”

I ended the call, and he called again and again and again, but I didn’t answer. He texted, “Don’t you dare go down that path. We’ll both have everything to lose.”

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I blocked his number and prayed for forgiveness. I’ve even fasted, leaving everything in God’s hands, but I’m still here carrying the pain. There’s this constant voice in my head telling me to confess to my husband—that it’s the only way I’ll ever be free again.

Recently, that voice has become louder. I want peace in my spirit, but this marriage is only three years old.

Should I confess and risk losing everything? My heart says yes. My head says no. It’s a battle between my head and my heart.

Who should I allow to win?

—Pascaline 

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